Zero
by Luna Embry
Summary: When the eleventh day of September inflicts an onslaught of horror, America must pick up the pieces of this historical tragedy and bring forth justice.  With his fellow nations by his side, salvation appears tangible.  But the effects of the eleventh day of the ninth month will haunt America more than he ever could have anticipated.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is my first time writing a fic for Hetalia, so have mercy! **This story concerns the events of September 11th*** Also...**I like to drop f-bombs here and there when it fits...so you've been warned**. I'll continue this story if I get some nice reviews...so if you read and you like then type me up a review and I promise another chapter! Well...without anymore commentary...enjoy! And lastly...I do not own Hetalia because if I did I wouldn't be writing a fic for it.

**Zero**

**8:30 a.m.**

The morning sun shimmered through the window blinds casting a warm enveloping light on the slumbering nation. He kicked off his blankets in discomfort as he became slightly overheated from the sun's rays. A quiet moan escaped his lips and he reluctantly peeled his eyes open to the world around him. Even though his eyes could only perceive his surroundings as soft blurry wisps he could still appreciate the undeniably beautiful day that was dawning. He quickly snatched his glasses off the nightstand adjacent to his bed and hastily threw them on, eager to see the dawn of a new day in the greatest city on Earth.

The nation's eyes grew large with delight as he beheld the most majestic sphere of light climb higher and higher into the sky. Soon the sky would be purely blue but at that point in the morning it still possessed sporadic brush strokes of pink and orange. The birds on the other side of the window whistled a happy tune in perfect harmony. The freshly awoken nation grinned contentedly.

He turned his gaze away from the rousing city to grab the clicker off the nightstand. He hit the power button and the television across the room glowed with life. Appearing on the screen was a cheerful news anchor delivering good tidings to the city. A map of America flashed across the screen with sun balls illustrated around the east coast.

"It's gonna be a beautiful day today…sunshine throughout. Low humidity…really a splendid September day. The afternoon temperature will be about eighty degrees… great weather for the primary election. Tonight expect clear and cool skies with a low of sixty…"

The nation turned his attention away from the newscast to open his window and fill his lungs with the pure September air. "Hello New York City!" he exclaimed, leaning his elbow against the windowsill. The view of skyscrapers from his window was extraordinary. They towered over the city like trees canopying a jungle. Bright yellow taxis below whizzed by, picking up their first fares for the day, like bees gathering honey. Pedestrians weaved in and out of the streets heading to work for the day. For a while the nation stared in wonderment at the great city, his lips perpetually spread into a wide smile. Although he appreciated all the sights and sounds, his gaze was set on two particular towers. He favored the two above all the others. They stood together side by side like best friends or even brothers.

Suddenly a familiar voice broke the nation from his spacey trance. "Hey, America…do you by any chance have food that doesn't contain an alarming amount of trans fat? I mean honestly, it's rather disconcerting that you eat food like-"

"Morning England! It's totally gonna be a kick ass day, am I right?" said America as he motioned toward the window.

"Hm…I suppose-"

"Of course I'm right! I'm always right! Hey, see those two towers out there?" America pointed to them. "They're my favorite! Wanna know why?"

"Well-"

"Of course ya do! It's because no matter what they always stand together. Side by side forever! Cool, don't ya think?"

England remained still for a moment and looked upon the towers with a grin. His emerald eyes twinkled with awe. "Yes…you're right. They're quite…amazing."

America laughed mirthfully and put his arm around England's shoulders. "My thoughts exactly! They're kinda like me and you, don't you think?"

The blood tickled England's skin as it rushed to his cheeks. His heart started pumping vehemently like he had been running for miles. "America-"

The younger nation removed his strong arm from England's shoulder and dashed to his dresser to pull out a pair of grey pants and a royal blue t-shirt with the classic superman S. He quickly slipped on a pair of sneakers and nearly ran out the door if it weren't for England's puzzlement.

"Where are you going?" asked the older nation.

"To find some food that you'll like! You don't visit too often so…maybe you'll visit more if I find some food that's to your liking!"

England's blush deepened and for a single moment he thought he saw a glimpse of America as a colony, weeping and begging for England to stay. "Oh…well…cheers, then!" he managed to say.

America grinned placidly, his azure eyes twinkling as always. He reached for the door.

"Oh and America? Don't forget to bring your mobile with you," England admonished.

"Already got it! Catch you later!"

The door slammed shut behind America. With him gone England let out a long lingering breath in attempt to wash the color away from his face.

* * *

><p><strong>8:40 a.m.<strong>

America had just turned on to West Street when he realized that his pockets were completely empty. "Oops..." he muttered. Now that it was on his mind he could picture his wallet on the kitchen counter where he had left it. "Better go back…" he contemplated. As he was about to turn around he caught a quick glance of his favorite two towers. They weren't far at all from where he was standing. He felt like a wee spec compared to their enormity. "Maybe I'll take the long way back…"

Amidst his marveling a sudden buzz in his pocket caused him to jump. He reached in for his cellphone and flipped it open to take the call. "Hello?" he said into the phone.

"Hey dumb ass, you do realize that you left your wallet behind?" England's voice was unquestionably irritated and America felt a twinge of guilt.

"Haha! Yeah man I totally forgot! I'm heading back now to get it. Hey how long do you think McDonald's is serving breakfast for?"

"God help you if you bring back anymore fast food!" England roared into the phone.

America chuckled heedlessly. "Nah man, for me! I know the arches aren't your style. But I have to say you're missing out…"

"Sometimes I wonder if there is rock inside your head instead of a brain…"

America laughed again. "Lighten up, dude! It's a beautiful day so what is there to be pissy about?"

"Well your unhealthy obsession with greasy foods for one…"

America failed to hear England on the other end of the phone. He became infatuated with the radiant blue sky and the World Trade Center in all its glory. _Always together, side by side_, he thought.

America glanced at his watch. The time was now 8:46 a.m.

"Are you listening to me, you git?" he heard England yell from the phone.

"Hm, what? Ah sorry, man. I spaced out. I think I have plenty of time to get some hot cakes so I'll just-" America paused. A bumpy engine sound began to resonate overhead. The engine seemed to falter as if…as if it were giving out. The sounds of a passing by jet were usually smooth and swift but this particular one was rough and terrifyingly loud. _Buh-bump. Buh-bump. _

The noise lasted no longer than a second but within that small time frame was when this stopped even resembling a normal day. Cool ice crystals seemed to grip America's stomach as he stood frozen in shock. _Boom. Boom. Boom. _An absurdly massive explosion blossomed out of the flaming jet protruding from the south tower. _Crash. Boom. Boom. _The jet plumed thick black clouds that ravenously engulfed the tower. Smoke obscured the vision of those below. Debris and ash began to rain down from the smoldering tower.

Almost at the exact same moment every head of every passerby tilted skyward.

"Holy shit!" America heard a man shout.

"Holy _fucking_ shit!" he heard another yell.

America's lips felt numb to words but his thoughts raced at a million miles a minute. _What is going on? What the hell is going on? _He nearly dropped his cellphone until he heard England's voice calling for him on the other end.

"America! America! What the bloody hell was that noise? America, answer me dammit!"

America squeezed his cellphone forcefully almost to the point of pulverizing it. He hissed in torment as a sharp pain exploded on his side. "Ah…" he cried. He felt as if something enormous and heavy crashed into his side, shattering his ribs. The pain exploded again and America hunched over in agony. "Oh my God…" he breathed.

"America! Are you hurt? Talk to me…please just talk to me!" England screamed into the phone in plain worry.

America dared to take a glance up at the destruction. _Boom. Boom. _The black cloud of smoke escaping from the tower turned bright orange at the second boom. Glowing sparks were being spat from the inferno. The terrifying shade of orange was permanently ingrained into America's mind as several mini explosions seemed to rattle the south tower even more. An even larger black cloud rose high over the tower.

"England…" America whispered into his phone, apparent pain weighing down his voice.

"America! What is going on? Are you okay? Please…please be safe."

"Look out the window," said America.

There was a prolonged pause on the phone as England started for the closest window. America heard England's sharp intake of breath.

"Dear God, no…" England murmured.

America was silent on the other end, beginning to form a plan of action inside his clouded head.

"America…stay where you are. I'm coming to get you."

America didn't reply. All he could think was, _this is going to be the worst day of my life as a country. This wasn't an accident. _The wailing of sirens invaded America's thoughts. Fire trucks, ambulances, police cars, they all seemed to arrive at the same time. Neither the firefighters nor the police showed fear only confusion. Their flashing lights blinded those on the streets. None seemed to have any clue as to what was happening.

"America stay on the phone with me. Keep talking. You're probably hurt from this. Try not to move, okay? I'm coming, I promise," said England.

America's heartbeat grew slower and slower. He watched the people around him look up like the entire world just stopped. And for all America cared…it had stopped. Time was beginning to slow down.

He watched intrepid firefighters march into the lobby of the south tower that had been hit. Immediately he knew that he had to go in with them. He had to help. He had to do something. Anything. They were his people and as a nation America could never abandon them no matte how much pain he was in.

No longer clutching his side, America dashed into the lobby. There, he was met with the most unimaginable horror. Crumbled in a lifeless ball on the ground was a completely charred body, burnt to a blackened crisp from head to toe. The body would never be able to be identified in its mutilated state. Before he could taste vomit in his throat, America rushed past the body and refused to look back.

"So…so…sick…so disgustingly sick," America muttered.

"Just hang on, America. I'm coming," said England from America's phone.

Inside the lobby it looked as if the plane had crashed where America and the firefighters were standing. All the windows were blown out and shards of glass were scattered all over the floor. The firefighters congregated in the lobby and mapped out a way to reach upstairs. Of course none of the elevators were in working order, which left only one option…to climb over twenty stories of steps. Everyone knew it was going to be awful upstairs. Glancing around, America saw the chief firefighter with his eyes closed and his hands clasped together. He muttered silent words underneath his breath. Although America could not hear him, he knew that he was praying.

America approached the chief, not aware that his body was trembling from the pain erupting on his side. "I'm going up there with you," he declared.

"AMERICA NO! Get out of there now! Listen to me, you bloody wanker! You're not going up there. I'm almost there just a few more-" America shut his phone and dropped it to the floor where its battery flew out.

"Please, chief, let me come with you," America repeated to the experienced firefighter.

"No can do, sonny! Only trained firefighters are allowed up there. Why don't you run along before things get worse?"

America wanted to laugh. _He wouldn't be calling me sonny if he really knew I am_, he thought. For the time being, he knew he wouldn't be able to argue so America left the lobby and headed outside to check for any sort of change. He looked up at the destruction and felt weak at heart, something he was never used to feeling. The pain at his side started to burn.

Then, as if by was some cruel joke, it happened again. _Boom. Boom. Boom. _Another plane exploded into the second tower, erupting into hungry flames. Debris began to rain down at a more impressive rate, coating everything underneath it in grey dust. Not only was debris falling from the blackening sky but so were papers. The wind carried them through the air. There were hundreds upon hundreds of papers falling from both the towers.

A terrible eruption of pain burst from America's other side. He could feel his other set of ribs snap. And it burned. It burned more than anything else. He gasped out of the shock of the agony and fell to his knees, whimpering miserably. He regretted throwing his cellphone on the ground and failing to pick it back up. He wished he could hear England's voice telling him that he was going to be okay. "England…England…" he cried.

America tried to pull himself up. He was nearly trampled over as bystanders started to sprint away from the towers as fast as their legs would allow, their survival instincts kicking in.

More black smoke billowed from both the towers and then it started to spread to where the people could breathe it in. As pedestrians rushed away from the danger time seemed to freeze. America looked up and saw an even more unimaginable horror, worse than the charred body. From the windows of the south tower America could see figures, tiny figures in suits, jumping.

_Thud…dead._

_ Thud…dead. _

_ Thud…dead. _

His eyes were no longer able to focus on the jumpers. His sight became blurred and fuzzy with a salty onslaught of tears. He howled in pain and sobbed tremulously into his quaking hands. "Fuck…FUCK!" he screamed. Although he could no longer see the jumpers he could still hear the sound of bodies smacking onto pavement. "FUCK!" He put his hands over his ears so he wouldn't have to hear the sound of a departing life again. It wasn't a sound he could try getting used to. It was so…_loud_. _How bad is it up there that the better option is to jump? _

For the second time, America returned to the lobby of the south tower. There was still a small company of firefighters inside but most of them had started the climb. America tried to dash to the steps but was immediately restrained by a team of young firefighters.

"Please just let me help! Let me up there! LET GO!" America roared barbarously.

"Absolutely no one is allowed up there! Especially some kid off the streets! Do yourself a favor and go home while you have the chance, eh?" yelled one of the firefighters.

America went limp under their restraint and stumbled to the ground. He cried out in pain as his side hit the floor.

"Are you hurt, kid?"

America shook his head. "I'm fine! I'll be fine…" He scooped himself up off the ground, trying his best to ignore the shaking of his limbs. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his cellphone that he had dropped, its battery wasn't too far away from it. He swiftly snatched both and put the phone back together. As the phone turned on, America was immediately bombarded with missed call after missed call. There were fifteen altogether, every single one from England. He ignored them for the time being.

Again he found himself storming out of the lobby and back into the streets where people had their cell phones out, recording the horror. America retreated deeper into the streets to get the full picture. As he walked briskly something beneath his feet caused him to stumble forward and fall face first into the hard concrete. His cheek skidded against the pavement leaving a streak of blood. When he pulled himself up and looked at what he had tripped over his heart sank. It was a huge round metal disk, undeniably a piece of the plane. He took an apprehensive step back and nearly tripped over another metal piece of the plane.

Around him those who weren't running were conversing to one another in a panic, exchanging rumors.

"I heard there's a third plane comin' through any minute now!" said a man dressed in business attire.

"A third? I'm not a religious man but I say God is punishing us for something, eerie isn't it?" asked an older man next to him, dressed more casually.

_Just rumors…just rumors_, America reminded himself. _Things that aren't true can't hurt me. _

He suddenly thought to call England but then thought better of it. "It's better he doesn't find me like this…so weak and useless," he said to himself. He clung to that thought until the ground started to rumble. _Buh-boom. Buh-boom. Buh-boom. _His muscles stiffened in dread but he forced himself to sprint back to the south tower. "I have to try to get up there just one more time and maybe they won't notice me," he muttered as he sprinted towards the danger.

Upon arriving he saw firefighters retreating and immediately he knew something was dreadfully wrong. Why would a firefighter retreat? It was their job to save lives so why were they leaving?

America slinked into the lobby unnoticed amidst the chaos and felt the ground rumbling. _Buh-boom. Buh-boom. _Only a few firefighters remained inside, helping to clear everyone out, barking orders in a fearsome hurry. Before America could come close to the steps a new feeling washed over him. It wasn't shock, it wasn't confusion and it wasn't physical pain. It was fear. Pure unadulterated fear. He could see it in the eyes of the firefighters who remained. They were actually scared now and so was America although he hated to admit. _I'm scared_, he thought. _I'm so _fucking_ scared._

_ Buh-boom. Buh-boom. _At that sound it was like every cell in America's body was telling him to leave, to get out, to run. But before he could act on that impulse, it began. _Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. _People sprinted for their lives. The tower was falling. Only after a short second, America was lost in thick grey smoke but he ran regardless. He let his senses guide him to safety. He hacked and hacked as he inhaled debris and his eyes stung and itched from all the dust floating in them, but he pressed forward. He wished he could call England but he didn't dare think about anything but escaping.

It seemed like he was running forever but when he had finally escaped the building he had never felt so relieved, his racing heart finally beginning to slow. He still panted heavily, trying not to take deep intakes of breath and inhale more debris.

His victory was short lived however. The real impact of the pain came crashing down on him within seconds. The feeling of flesh burning, bones snapping and hearts exploding all bombarded him at once. He was feeling the pain of his people and at that moment he was sure he was going to die. Others around him had not noticed his obvious agony as they began to retreat further away. He was left to suffer or so he had let himself believe.

"America!" came a voice that seemed to purge the darkness engulfing him. Covered in dust and debris was England, sprinting towards America in a hurry. For the first time in a very, very long time England crushed America into an embrace so warm and loving that America thought for a second that maybe he had died and gone to heaven.

"England…I…" he began as his body went limp in England's arms. America whimpered in pain, clutching England's shirt for dear life. "England…_help_ me…"

"It's okay, America…I'm here…" England replied soothingly while rubbing America's back. America felt so vulnerable and small in his arms again, just how he was when he was a colony. England could have stayed in that position forever, holding America fervently, rubbing his trembling back. But then…it happened again.

_Buh-boom. Buh-boom. _America and England both knew that where they were was not a safe place to be, their instincts told them so. "This joke just keeps getting sicker and sicker…" America mumbled into England's chest.

_Buh-boom. Buh-boom. _The time was 10:28 and a huge roar rang through the debris filled air. There was no time for either nation to think at that point, they just ran. America barely had the strength to run but England pulled him along, determined not to let any more harm befall him. America took a daring glance over his shoulder and saw that it happened once again. The second tower was falling and the smoke was chasing them. The smoke was faster. Much, much faster.

In an instant America felt a hard body crash into his and tackle him to the ground. The body stayed on top of him protectively, pressing America as close to the ground as possible. Then, all of his surround went pitch dark.

America was positive he was going to die. Absolutely one hundred percent sure. There was no way he was going to live and that was a fact that he tried to come to terms with. Around both him and England it was raining dust pellets but it sounded more like hail. Finalizing thoughts swarmed America's mind.

"England…" he began, unable to know if his voice would reach him. "I love you, dammit. If we survive…I'm going to tell you that everyday," America promised.

England made no response, clearly not hearing America. The hailing pellets washed out America's voice completely.

And then…there was dead silence. No radio calls. No sound. Nothing. The dust started to clear as the wind started blowing in the opposite direction. All the dust had settled and America could see light once again. He was alive. The crushing weight on top of him was lifted. England tried to shake the dust out of his hair as he stood up.

The city was covered in a layer of dust. It almost looked like snow, the way it piled up on benches and the streets.

England knelt back down next to America. All he could see was the shocking blue pigment of his eyes. So he took his hand and ran it across his former colony's face. When England had unmasked America's entire face he immediately wished he had not. It was grief and horror stricken beyond repair. His mouth was agape and he breathed in and out heavily, almost to the point of hyperventilating. His stare was empty. Looking into his eyes was like looking into a vortex of hopelessness. England didn't know what to do or what to say. Perhaps it was selfish of him to be relieved when America had finally lost consciousness, collapsing forward into his former guardian's arms. England was grateful that America's brain had shut down even if it was only temporary.

England cradled his ex-colony fervently, letting his love spread into his bones, hoping to somehow absorb his grief. He stroked his dusty hair and planted a warm kiss on his forehead. England sighed, feeling exhaustion finally settle in. "What am I going to do with you…once you open those eyes?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I spent a lot of time watching 9/11 documentaries for this so I hope I did an alright job with this fic. I'm not trying to make excuses for myself but this was exceedingly difficult to write...but, nevertheless, I'd love to continue to challenge myself with this story so type me up a review if you want to see another chapter. Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **So I decided to continue the story because of all the positive feedback! Thank you so much for all the helpful reviews! They were lovely :) I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the first. It's a little bit shorter...not for any particular reason, it just sort of ended up that way. Plus, I do need to save up some material for the next chapter assuming this one goes well. Anyway...I'll shut up now so you can read. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Zero: <strong>Chapter 2

The dust ceased to rain. The sky above was now a dismal grey, dark and foreboding as if the atmosphere itself was in mourning. England watched figures blanketed in dust rise from the ground. He jumped as he noticed how well the victims blended into the pools of dust, he could scarcely notice their presence until they rose to their feet. They were like chameleons, blending in to their environment to fool predators. The few who had roused held their hands on top of their heads, mumbling desperate prayers underneath their breath. Some shook their heads hopelessly, sensing the horrendous loss of life around them.

The towers were gone, or that was what it appeared like. In truth, they were everywhere. They coated the streets, they coated vehicles, they were in England's hair, they were blanketing America's face, they were just simply _everywhere_. "_No matter what they always stand together! Side by side! Cool don't you think?" _America's voice echoed in England's head. "_They're kinda like me and you." _

Even though he wasn't awake, America's face contorted in pain, exposing obvious signs of trauma. His eyes were squeezed shut and he whimpered and moaned like he was suffering a nightmare.

At any given moment England was prepared for America to wake up. He felt that it was inevitable as he watched him thrash and kick invisible enemies. For a while, he just waited for him to rouse from his hallucinogenic trance. He tried to hold his hand but each time America would thrash in the opposite direction and his hand would slip, but each time England clasped it again. The older nation sighed, wishing he could chase away America's nightmare.

"What is going on inside that head of yours?" he whispered.

* * *

><p>America found himself standing on the sidewalk of a busy street, the buzz of highway traffic ringing in his ear. The sun was beaming overhead strongly, its rays being absorbed by the faces below it. Pedestrians walked briskly by, some with their morning coffee in their hands and some with briefcases swinging by their sides. They all hurried to work in splendid oblivion.<p>

A warm tug at his heart told America that he was in his capital, Washington D.C, a city he loved just as much as New York. There, stood an architectural marvel. It was a building of five sides and five stories, giving it its famous name, the Pentagon. Boxed in its epicenter was a lush courtyard blooming with verdant plant life. The sheer size of the Pentagon was what was most astounding. It stretched well over six million square feet of space, deeming it one of the world's largest office buildings. Nothing could have prevented America from grinning at the marvel.

On almost every side of the building was a parking lot. America watched from a distance as busy workers shut the doors of their cars and headed in to the office for the day, their keys dangling as they moved.

America sighed in satisfaction. The sun was shining, the sky was a perfect hue of blue and even a few birds were whistling. It was a beautiful day.

Above his head he heard the prominent sound of a jet streaming. Initially he thought nothing of it. The National Airport was nearby so there was no denying that the jet was coming in for a landing. But as if out of nowhere the sound of the jet grew louder and louder until it was screaming, just _screaming_. America quickly spun around, now expecting to see a fighter jet fly over. What he saw caused his stomach to drop and his face to go numb. His fear suddenly felt like something tangible swirling around him and sending shivers down his spine. He saw a split-second glimpse of a white commercial airliner, streaking low toward the Pentagon. Its wheels were up, clearly showing no intention of a safe landing. As if for only a tenth of a second America thought he saw silhouettes in the circular windows of the jet, in the back two rows. He couldn't make out whether they were male or female, but they were undeniably human beings.

The Pentagon was only about two hundred yards from where he stood. The jet only thirty feet above his head. It was nothing more than a guided missile at that point, heading full speed, full throttle towards the Pentagon.

In the last second before impact, the plane seemed to be floating as if it were a paper glider. And then, America couldn't even think to duck fast enough. Before the first onslaught of explosions the plane seemed to speed up before it came into contact with the earth. _Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._ In rapid fire it struck five lamp poles, one after the other. The first came careening into an unsuspecting taxicab. The second flew into a patch of trees. The third struck the engine hard. The fourth caused smoke to billow from the damaged engine. America failed to see the fifth lamp pole fall as the impactful blast sent him several feet backwards from where he had been standing. The entire ground shook like Earth's tectonic plates were vibrating. The traffic around him stopped and every car seemed to move an entire foot to the right when the shock wave came shooting through.

America's glasses fell from his face and came crashing towards the pavement, shattering into pieces. He took in a deep fear filled gasp and inhaled jet fuel that choked and clogged his lungs.

Immediately, a ball of flame shot up the side of the building. It was a fireball, a huge, orange fireball. Following the aggressive flames was dark black smoke. It took the shape of a mushroom and billowed high up over the roof of the building.

Suddenly, a sharp stabbing pain ripped through America's abdomen as if a long metal sword had been slid into his core. He cried in terror from the death pains but more so from what was occurring before him. He could actually hear the metal going through the building, crunching and crashing. At that point the wings actually melted into the Pentagon and the tail of the plane slipped inside the building. It was so precise. The plane had completely disappeared into the Pentagon.

A field of flames erupted from the impact site. America gagged on the jet fuel in his lungs. When he could finally register the dread around him he lost the ability to control the tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

"Oh God…oh God…" he breathed. Flushing out his own pain from his mind, America listened to the screams of the people around him and the thumping of receding footfalls. He felt an overwhelming magnetic pull to the source of the danger. He had to see. There had to be someone he could save. Anyone. He dragged himself to the crash site, the pain in his core weighing him down. As he moved towards the flames he saw metal scraps littering the ground. A particularly long shiny one struck him as a piece of the wing. He gulped apprehensively and moved on, closer to the inferno.

Not thinking of his own well being, he dove into the flames. From a bystander's point of view it probably looked like an attempt at suicide. The weather suddenly took an abrupt change as it began to pour debris. The hot smoldering flames spat at America's skin. If the fire had teeth it would have swallowed him whole.

"Is…is anyone alive? Can anyone hear me? Anybody!" America was sure that his voice was lost in the crackling of flames and the fresh sounds of wailing sirens. The heat became unbearable and America was sure that he was dead.

* * *

><p>America felt a cool sweaty hand encasing his. A fire seemed to smolder on his forehead. He howled at the flame burning in his core and the throbbing of his sides. He let loose a scratchy sob as the images of the Pentagon came flooding back into his psyche.<p>

"Make it stop…make it stop…" he wept. His voice was gravely and thick.

An icy hand swept over America's forehead, wiping away the beads of perspiration forming.

America grabbed a handful of sheets with his freehand. _Sheets? Why do I feel sheets? _He thought.

"America…I know this is hard but try to relax for me, okay? You can open your eyes now," came a calm and soothing voice.

America slowly peeled his eyes open. They burned and itched and even teared from irritation but when they were at last open he was met with blindingly white walls. Was it a hospital? His gaze went quickly searching to the nation by his side, holding his hand.

"Hey there," he said. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" England tried for a smile in attempt to comfort his former colony in trauma. But it was no use. He couldn't stretch his lips in that way, not when America was so disturbed with grief.

"England…" America began but immediately shut his mouth noticing how it was impossible for him to speak without squeaking with sobs.

England rested his cold hand on America's cheek. America gripped England's arm.

"It's okay, America. We don't have to talk."

Suddenly, out of the blue, America screamed. His chest erupted in agony and his heart raced so manically that it felt like his blood pumper was trying to escape from his throat. He pulled England close to him in a panic.

"It's happening again, England. It won't stop!" Then, the lights seemed to go out and America was consumed into darkness once more.

* * *

><p>Once the darkness had cleared and the beautiful rays of sun shined their light on the world, America opened his eyes. He found himself standing soundly on a wide-open plain, watching white puffy clouds drift gently across the sky. Bordering the plain was thick forestland where pine trees stood tall and proud, their bristles swaying with the wind. Green and blue seemed to be the only color the eyes could perceive. The sky was a heavenly sapphire so clear and vivid. The plain was a sheet of glowing emeralds and the surrounding thicket was a sparkling sea of green. The air had a northern chill but it wasn't significant enough to cause a shiver. Again, it was a beautiful day.<p>

America could have remained there for hours and been perfectly content. He sucked in a lungful of crisp air and slowly exhaled feeling his existence blend with his land, as it always should. He adored the east, not to say that he didn't cherish the west but there was something about the east that made his heart flutter. Perhaps it was the memory of his colonial days that were strangely a comfort to him. The days when England's visits were much more frequent…the days when he allowed himself to weep at England's absence. The east reminded him of the affection he held for his guardian, so overwhelming and bright. Now he was left to wonder how much he had hurt his beloved guardian by gaining independence. _One does not stay a child forever_, he reminded himself. _It was time. I had to do it. He loves me no matter what. _

America quickly snapped out of his thoughts, shaking his head with disapproval at the blush reddening on his cheeks. "I think I might be going soft," he whispered to himself with a short laugh.

Abruptly, a low buzz echoed throughout and America glanced skyward to see a spec of an airplane soaring in the distance. He smiled at the aircraft thinking of how majestic it was. That it had the ability to see the world from such an incredible vantage point. It glided through the air effortlessly, always pushing itself forward with unbelievable speed that could not be perceived with the human eye. America admired the way it rushed through the clouds, never looking back. "I could take some advice from an airplane..." he pondered aloud. "The past is the past."

With awe, America observed the plane. Ever so slowly it came closer and closer into his field of vision. Closer and closer, lower and lower. _Lower?_ His thoughts raced in a panic. He used his hand as a visor and homed in carefully on the plane. The entire aircraft seemed to jerk to the side and plunge several feet lower. And again it jerked awkwardly to its other side until it became a back and fourth pattern. It tilted forwards, backwards, and side-to-side, taking occasional leaps upward and sporadic downward dives. The roar of the engine grew louder as the plane zoomed in closer.

"What the-" Suddenly the entire plane tilted so dramatically to the right that it nearly hung upside down. But just as quickly as it flipped one way, it flipped back the other way. "It's almost like…like people are fighting for control of the…"

A cold breath escaped his lips. His body grew recognizably numb with fear. The feeling was like déjà vu. "Oh no…" he moaned. Flashing before his eyes rapidly were images of crashing planes exploding into balls of fire. Two struck a pair of towers and one struck a massive building. The corresponding memories flooded back to his mind as if he were cured of amnesia.

Snapping back to reality he watched the struggling plane before him in horror. It continued to rock as if it were a ship sailing through choppy seas. It almost appeared hesitant as it came spiraling to the earth. Hesitant as if the passengers were leading some form of an attack.

Shaking from head to toe, America muttered prayers of desperation. "Keep fighting…keep fighting…" Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. "Don't give up…keep fighting."

The plane tilted dramatically to the right again and then back to the left. It bobbed up and down like a buoy in the water. Now the jet screamed as the plane appeared larger in America's eyes. "Don't stop fighting…just fight…fight!"

The jet took a startling jump downward and soon the entire aircraft was mere feet away from the earth and America. "Stop…" America said softly but sternly. The plane roared mockingly. "Stop…" he said again, sobs caught in the back of his throat. The air whooshed by the careening plane. The engine cried out. "Stop…." The nose of the plane prepared to come crashing into America who stood unmoving and resolute. Time slowed down and the white metal was about to explode into his skin. "I said…STOP IT!" His scream was lost in a vortex of red.

* * *

><p>"Stop! Stop!" America screamed in a fitful trance. He thrashed back and fourth in a cramped hospital bed, throwing pillows and kicking blankets subconsciously. He breathed quickly and heavily as if he were suffocating. Fire burned behind his eyes and his chest smoldered with unbearable pain, aching and throbbing.<p>

Then, as if out of nowhere, the chaos in his mind subsided. A soft loving hand on his cheek seemed to absorb the tormenting images for a moment. America's eyes shot open to see England hovering over him protectively.

"I'm right here," assured the older nation.

America looked up at England, letting all his sorrow show. He placed his hand over England's that rested upon his cheek. For another odd split second, America felt peace of mind. He squeezed England's hand tighter hoping to find more relief, but to his dismay there was none.

"England…" he breathed. "How could I let this happen?"

The older nation grew quiet.

"How did I not see it coming? How…how…? People are dead, England. _Dead._"

England suddenly pulled America's hand away from his cheek. He then moved it to America's chest and remained silent as if he were listening to some kind of song that only he could hear.

America stared back in confusion, his heart thudding against the palm of his hand.

"Do you feel it?" England asked.

America nodded, still in a state of bewilderment.

"Good." England placed his own hand over America's, letting the warmth spread over. "I know you, America…I know you better than anybody else…after today you'll make sure something like this never happens again. I know you will. Even as a kid you showed signs of such…such strength."

"England?"

"As long as that heart of yours keeps beating… _nothing_ can stop you." He leaned in closer to whisper into America's ear. "Remember that."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Love it? Hate it? Let me know if it's worthy of a third chapter! Thanks for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **My apologies for taking so long to get this chapter up! As you can see it's a little bit bigger than my other two chapters so I'm shamelessly using that as an excuse for the prolonged delay. Thank you again for all the wonderful feedback! I read all my reviews and take everyone's thoughts into consideration, so writing a review is a great way to help me stear this story in the right direction. Thank you, thank you! Anyway...I'll leave my main portion of commentary for the author's note at the end so I don't give anything away. Well...without any further ado, enjoy!

* * *

><p>September 13th<p>

8:00 p.m.

The white walls stared at America mockingly. He hated them, the way they enclosed him in with all the injured and the dying. America couldn't help but to absorb some of their agony like a sponge. His sides ached and his chest felt tight and stiff. He grew to hate the hospital in its entirety knowing he was surrounded by hundreds of wounded he could not help.

He hated the sounds too. The whoosh of the curtain constantly being pulled, the squeaking of wheelchairs being pushed and the steady beeping of the electronic heart monitor by his side. America fiddled with the clamp around his index finger that measured his heart rate. He took it on and off and watched the machine flash a straight green line across the monitor. He laughed and put the clamp back on again and listened to the returning steady beep. He laughed like a child, repeating the process over and over again.

The IV attached to the crook of his arm started to sting seeing as it had been just recently inserted. He remembered the nurse telling him that he was to wear the IV for a short while but any events that happened after the fact seemed to cloud in America's mind like a blurry fog. Amidst his delirium all America could do was play with the heart monitor as if it were a game.

"America, that's enough. Keep it on," England admonished, who sat by America's bedside with an open book resting on his lap.

"Awww, but why? It's so much fun! Just like in the movies, no? Look!" America unclamped his finger and giggled at the long unwavering beep. Then, he slid the clamp back on and snickered at the stable beep that reappeared. "Have I blown your mind yet?"

England sighed, running his hand down his face. "That's fantastic, America, but keep it on. We don't need a team of nurses coming in."

"Hey! Those nurses are nice people, you ungrateful….tea drinking…book reading…" America's words slurred and became lost in a pool of gibberish.

"Just try and relax, would you?" England grabbed America by his shoulders and pushed him back into his bed. England noted the glassy and lost look in America's eyes. A look that could only be induced by a number of sedatives. "I knew this was a bad idea…"

America stood back up in his bed, nearly pulling out his IV. "Why should I have to wear this stupid thing? You said yourself that my heart keeps beating and stuff…and…honestly…who decided that white walls looked good…I swear to God I'm going to complain. Nurse!" America screamed, his words still blending together into mush.

"America! Calm yourself and try not to talk, you sound like a moron," England rebuked.

"Was that an insult? Well… I think that…that you have an annoying and stupid face!" America roared with laughter, struggling to catch a breath. He keeled over in hysterics, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"God, it's like your drunk…" England complained, avoiding America's loopy stare.

America's laughter slowed after a few minutes. He wiped the tiny tears away from the corner of his eye and let out a deep exhale. His face softened and his lips began to form the smallest of frowns. "Hey, England? Remember a while back when I said your face was annoying and stupid? Well…it's not…"

England sunk deeper into his chair, his shoulders sagging low from stress. "Why did I ever let them sedate you?" he questioned.

America, sitting up right, leaned in closer to England so his forehead was pressed to his. "You're really good looking…you know that? You could be in like magazines…. or TV…. or movies and stuff. You could! I'm being completely…one hundred percent serious right now," he said, his breath heating England's face.

England bit his lower lip, trying his best to hold a face void of emotion. _He's delusional, he won't remember any of this in a few hours, _he repeatedly reminded himself. "America get back in your bed and go to sleep," England demanded.

America smiled with mischief kindling in his eyes and dropped out of the hospital bed completely so he was nestled in England's lap. His IV tugged as he did so but remained inserted into his vein. "But that bed is so lonely…I think I'll stay right here with you," he replied.

"America, you're not a child anymore, so get off. This looks ridiculous…if anyone were to see this they might think…"

America rested his head wearily on England's shoulder, tickling his ear with his warm breath. "Think what?" he whispered in confusion.

"Nothing," England responded curtly. "Go to bed, America. I mean it."

America only smiled at the suggestion. "Nope." He giggled mirthfully while latching himself on tighter to his former guardian. "Make me," he said at last.

England heaved a long breath as a curious thought popped into his mind. He grinned deviously at his past colony. "Fine," he announced. With his index finger, England searched for the pressure point at the base of America's skull between his neck muscles. Once he had found it he applied light pressure to it and then massaged the point with clockwise movements.

"Hey, England…this feels kinda funny…" America said drowsily as his eye lids began to feel too heavy to hold up. "Just what kind of magic trick is this?" America's head was now glued to England's shoulder. If he had wanted to remove it he wouldn't have been able to.

"Go to sleep, America. Go to sleep," England murmured as he continued to rub the sensitive pressure point, being sure to exercise caution as he did so. America moaned in his arms and soon his body went utterly limp nearly sliding off England's lap. The older nation pulled the sleeping America closer to his heart, enjoying the peace and quiet. England glanced to the hospital bed thinking that it would be only natural to put America back where he belonged. However, he could not bring himself to move, not when America was so beautifully quiet. Instead of doing the predictable, he cradled America for several moments, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to hold the younger nation like he used to. "I miss this…" he muttered to himself.

England's wandering emerald eyes traced the contours of America's body, noting the undeniable presence of power and strength. He was tall too, even taller than the one who raised him. "When did all of this even happen…you used to be so tiny and fragile." England chuckled at the thought of America being anything along those lines. "You used to be so cute and affectionate…"

America suddenly stirred uncomfortably in his sleep, his eyebrows pulling together. To calm and to lessen the risk of awakening the delirious nation, England hummed a quiet lullaby, one that he had sung to America as a child. Soon, America's tension dissolved and his muscles began to relax.

"You might have been an angel when you were a child…" England said as he lovingly stroked America's hair. "But I like you the way you are now…you're you…and that's enough for me."

England embraced his former colony tighter, hopelessly wishing he could withdraw his pain. England stole a quick glance out the window and saw a city that was truly in mourning, not the same city he had seen just mere days ago. He looked sorrowfully at the nation cuddled on his lap. "Why did it have to be you?" he pondered.

As the night gradually progressed forward, England decided it would be appropriate to put America back in the hospital bed where he would probably find more comfort. Once England had put him down he stretched his own limbs that had grown stiff.

Suddenly, America twitched in his slumber and England's heart leapt with alarm. "Oh no you don't…" he muttered. Noticing a pattern in America's behavior, England snatched the younger nation's hand and held it securely. England stroked it soothingly hoping to spread his warmth. "Just one full night of sleep is all I want from you. I'll sit here with you all night if I must." England sighed in exhaustion. "You were always a problem child, America." The older nation lightly laughed, his lips turning into a smile for the first time in days. "So high maintenance…not that I mind." England's eyes wandered to the sleeping nation's chest that rose and fell with life. "You're still him…you're still my little America. You just grew up a little quicker than I would have liked." England squeezed his hand tighter. "No matter how much you may fight it…it's still my job to protect you. I hate the thought of you suffering…it makes _me_ sick inside. I suppose it's because I might possibly…I think I…"

The words he had wanted to say were dancing on the tip of his tongue, itching to get out. His face turned warm and flustered as he spread his lips to find the right words. "I…I think I…no I most definitely…oh…it's no use. I'm just talking to myself…it's not like you're even listening to me, it's not as if you could."

A sudden rapping on the wall caused England to jump with surprise. The low knock was soon followed by a distinct laughter. The laugh was undeniably one he was familiar with and not one he wanted to particularly hear at the moment.

"You are wrong, _Angleterre,_" came a dreadfully recognizable voice.

England's heart dropped at the sound of it. Any confessions he was about to bring light upon were shattered instantaneously and replaced with sheer anger upon the intrusion. He spun around in a fit of rage to lock eyes with the nation across the room. "You bloody frog! Who the hell invited you here? It's rude to eavesdrop, you know!"

France grinned and shook his head slightly letting his thick flaxen hair sway with him. "Oh England…is it so terrible that I was worried about you and America? Come on…I know you're secretly _enthralled_ to see me here, _oui_?"

The blood rushed to England's head and pricked his hot skin. He clutched his fist with scorn. "You're delusional, _froggie_! The fact that you're 'worried' is not a satisfactory reason to eavesdrop on a conversation! Don't you have any decency?"

France slowly sauntered closer to England and America. He studied England's face for a moment and frowned. His face showed clear signs of exhaustion, dark bags forming and a red pigment staining his cloudy eyes. America slept soundly on the bed beside England, the two nations holding hands.

"Oh please, Angleterre_, _a conversation is between two conscious people, not an endless stream of spoken thoughts about how _précieux_ you find _Amérique_."

England scoffed audibly and narrowed his eyes in contempt. "Why don't you shut the hell up? This has nothing to do with you! Besides…I never said anything of the sort."

"England…England…you are a very poor liar! You practically had me swooning with your loving words. Please say them again they were _magnifique_!"

"I will do no such thing! You're a dirty liar, France and you most definitely are not concerned with me or America, so leave!" England tore his gaze away from France and focused on America who, despite the commotion, was still sound asleep. With his free hand, England moved the loose strands of America's hair away from his forehead so he could test the amount of heat it gave off. To England's relief, he no longer felt like he was burning his hand on a hot stove but the fever was still undeniably present, just not as severe.

France observed from a distance the pain on England's face when he rested his fair hand on America's forehead. He seemed to shrink in stature. France pulled a free chair up to England's side in attempt to comfort him. He tried to imagine what America was feeling and what kind of nightmares could be haunting him but France immediately shook the thoughts away not wanting to simulate unnecessary pain.

"You were there weren't you, Angleterre?" France suddenly asked, his voice no longer possessing a playful tone.

England stared stoically out the window, his eyes widening with grief. "You can't even begin to know the horror," he said.

France wanted to reply but couldn't find something comforting enough to counter his statement with. He remained quiet and still, contrary to his typical self. For a moment the entire hospital seemed to be void of clamor. France could nearly make out the anxious beating of his own heart.

"I'd never heard it before," England muttered almost incomprehensibly.

"Heard what, Angleterre?"

"The smacking of bodies against pavement. My God…it was so bloody _loud_. The things I saw…the things I heard…by God it stays with you." England began to shake at the images that seemed to come back to life before his eyes.

France placed his hand on England's shoulder, feeling it tremor beneath him. "I'm sorry…" he began in a hush.

England grabbed France's hand and gently removed it from his shoulder. "France…stop. I'm not the one who's suffering…it's him." England's gaze found its way back to America's sleeping face. "But my God I would do anything to switch places with him. Dammit…I can hardly get him to even fall asleep without inducing it myself. He says he's afraid of his nightmares. He says that if he falls asleep…he'll be attacked again. I told him that's bullocks, I did. But he won't believe me. When he's awake…I swear it's like he's someone else. He practically doesn't talk, France. The only time he really talks is when he's sedated. And I know that it isn't him talking, it's the drug. I'm afraid he'll go mute without sedation. Mute! Doesn't that sound absurd? America is always so noisy and in my face but now…he's changing again. What in the hell am I supposed to do? I know that as soon as I let go of America's hand…he'll have a fit. He always knows when I leave…but then again he always was that way, although I'm not sure how he does it."

"Angleterre! Slow down would you? Tell me…when was that last time you slept? Not Amérique, you."

"Two days."

"Two days? You're crazy, Angleterre! And you're not very cute when you have bags under your eyes either. Amériquewon't mind if you rest for a little bit."

England couldn't remove his bloodshot eyes away from America or loosen his grasp on America's hand. "I can't leave him. What if he has a nightmare?"

"He's not your colony anymore, England. He's a_ country_. Wanting to care for him isn't bad…but you can't always be there to protect him. And you're forgetting something very important. America is strong. I know you know that better than anybody…"

England sighed frustratingly, shaking his head in disapproval. "No, you don't understand. America won't be given leave from the hospital if he doesn't sleep through the night. The doctors have suspicions of insomnia too. I know he wants to get out of here and start…dealing with the issue. The longer he waits the worse this will all become."

France stared at England in worry. He couldn't help but to notice a hint of madness in England's gaze. "Angleterre, if America gets released prematurely don't you think he will be more likely to make rash decisions? He's probably angry and upset beyond belief already…he couldn't possibly be rational at a time like-"

"A rash decision is better than no decision at all. America can't and won't just ignore what has happened because he's grieving and ill. Like you said France, he's a _country_ and that means he has responsibilities. The sooner I can get him out of here the better off we'll all be."

"But if you rush his recovery…he may never heal!"

England grew quiet for a moment, his eyes glazing over in worry. "N-no! That's not true! America is _strong_. I know you believe that France because you said it just a moment ago. So please stop arguing with me about this! I'll not listen to your bickering anymore."

"You're being more than _irrationnel_, Angleterre. Instead of arguing back and fourth why don't you let me hold Amérique's hand while you rest? _Est bon_?"

At France's suggestion, England suddenly felt the weight of two days without proper sleep crushing his shoulders. The thought of substantial rest made his eyelids heavier than they already were. A long and weary yawn escaped him without his control.

"I'll call you as soon as Amérique opens his eyes and I'll hold his hand all night for you."

England eyed him curiously, unsure whether or not he could place his faith in him. "I'm not sure how much I trust you to be honest. But, what good am I to America if I'm just a walking zombie? Promise me you won't leave his side. Promise me, dammit!"

"_Je vous promets_."

England hesitantly placed America's heated hand in France's, already regretting his decision. France clasped the hand gently and America showed no sign of stirring. "Don't make me regret this," England stated bitterly.

"You won't, Angleterre. Now go back to America's place and sleep…and maybe shower while you're at it."

England rolled his eyes but felt too exhausted to throw a witty response back at him. "Maybe I'll just sleep in this chair that way I won't have to leave…"

"Angleterre!"

"Fine…I'm leaving. But I'll be back at the break of dawn and if I'm not…call me until I answer. Oh and if America wakes or something happens make sure you-"

France raised his hand in objection. "I will call you if anything happens, you have my word. Now move along! _ Bonne nuit_!"

England stole one more glance at America and started for the door. _What am I doing? What am I doing? Can I really trust him? But I have to…I'm so bloody tired, _England thought as he made his way through the halls and eventually to the lobby.

France made himself comfortable in the small bedside chair while never releasing his grip on America's hand. The young nation's hand was smoldering as if it were aflame. But his face was gentle.

"You should have been mine, Amérique. Precious as a child and handsome as an adult…simply _parfait_!" France brushed back America's loose hair strands that fell over his face tickling his eye. His hair was slick with sweat proving that a fever was still setting flame to his body. "And we all know where you get your gorgeousness from." France laughed to himself quietly being careful not to raise his voice loud enough to wake America. "Angleterre has no idea how lucky he is. You chose him over me all those years ago, America. After my little spying today I think I finally understand just why you chose him. He loves you unconditionally. You are so fortunate, America, to have someone like England love you that way. I admit, I'm a bit _jaloux. _I'm not sure how you found your way to England's heart so easily. I've been trying for hundreds of years and one day you come out of nowhere and have him wrapped around your finger like that! You're a wonder, America. Simply a wonder…"

The night carried on without so much as a stir from America, clearly not noticing England's absence. France continually held his hand as promised but eventually let himself succumb into a light but tantalizing slumber. His sleep lasted until the sun started to show itself from behind the morning clouds. The two slept soundly until America shot his eyes open with a start and let out a loud hacking sound from the bowels of his throat.

America felt the air escape his lungs forcing him to cough in a panic. He relentlessly tried to suck in a single breath but it was as if his throat built a barrier that blockaded all air from streaming into his lungs. To break the barrier he hacked until he was sure his throat was cracked and bleeding. Once he had reached the point where he could no longer stand it to cough he frantically tried to breathe in but it was as if all the air in the room had been drained out and there was nothing at all to breathe in. In sheer desperation, he squeezed the hand that held his, thinking he would be awakening England.

France groggily woke up at the sensation of America strongly gripping his hand. His eyes fluttered open to see America in a state of hyperventilation. "_Mon Dieu_!" he exclaimed. Before he could call for help a team of nurses had already rolled in, carting with them a small tank of oxygen.

America didn't have enough time to realize that the one holding his hand was not England as a clear oxygen mask came descending towards his face. "Just breathe deeply," he heard a gentle voice advise. "There you go. Just like that," the voice continued. America immediately felt relief upon wearing the mask. He felt like he had finally surfaced from the bottom of the sea. The oxygen tasted like ambrosia the way it filled his lungs fully and completely. Now that his senses had returned to him, America looked around curiously waiting to hear England's voice next. Instead of finding a pair of emerald eyes watching him with worry he found two sapphires staring back at him wildly.

"Amérique! You scared me!" said France.

America tried to reply but the mask muffled his voice so he eyed France in bewilderment.

"Don't worry, Angleterre is just getting some rest so I get to babysit you. Don't look so unhappy, he'll be back soon!"

France felt a tug at his heart when he watched America's twinkling blue eyes grow wide with sorrow. He wondered if America's melancholy was triggered by England's absence or the harsh reality he had woken up to. France clasped America's arm without hesitation. "It'll be okay, Amérique," said France with sincerity sparkling in his eyes.

America could only blink at him in return, not wanting to fight the oxygen mask. He wondered why France had come from so far away to see him. Or maybe it was just to see England, either way America couldn't be sure. But he was glad, glad that someone was there when he woke up.

Pulling his watchful gaze away from America, France gently tapped the nurse on her shoulder. "_Escusez-moi, mademoiselle_, but do you know what caused this?" he asked.

"It was most likely a result from inhaling a great deal of debris. It might be collecting on the bottom of his lungs, but we won't know for sure until x-rays are done," she replied.

"How terrible! How can this be treated?"

"I think it will be very treatable, not much different than treating a severe case of asthma at worse. But again, I can't say anything for sure until we do some proper x-rays."

"Ah, _merci_. When will these x-rays be done?"

"As soon as possible."

France nodded in return. The nurse moved closer to America and casted a sideways glance at his heart monitor. She then delicately peeled the mask away from America. "How does that feel?" she asked.

America heaved a deep breath and felt the air around him circulate through his lungs again. "Much better," he replied.

The nurse completely removed the mask and carted away the tank of oxygen. As she started for the door she turned around quickly and said, "I'll be back for x-rays shortly."

With the nurse gone and the oxygen mask removed, America eyed France curiously. Before he could open his lips to speak France had pulled his cellphone from his pocket and began punching in a number to call.

"Angleterre will be upset if I don't tell him you're awake," said France quietly as he held up the phone to his ear.

"Wait. Tell me why you're here first," America demanded.

France glanced at America with a grin. "Very well, America's orders." He hit the end button on his phone before England could pick up and slid the phone back into his pocket.

"Well?"

"I only wanted to make sure my Angleterre and little Amérique were well. I was worried. Is that so bad?"

"You could have just called…"

"I like to see with my eyes, Amérique. The ears can be deceiving."

"Oh…" America dropped his stare to his hands. A frown began to touch his lips. His eyes slowly wandered to the window on his left and an embarrassing urge to cry suddenly took hold of him. "I need to get out of here," he whispered.

"Soon," France promised.

America remained silent, no longer showing any desire to converse. _So this is what Angleterre was talking about_, France thought. America crossed his arms glumly, staring into nothing at all. He didn't even blink he just simply stared. His eyes began to glaze over with a film of wetness but America hardly noticed the embarrassing display.

"America…if you want to talk I'm right here," France said.

For a moment, America thought he heard a voice but quickly debunked it as nothing at all. _I have to fix this. I have to fix this. Before I can do anything I need to get out of here as fast as I can. Where's that damn nurse? I think I slept through the night. They have to release me. They promised they would if I slept. Once I'm out of here…what should I do? I want…I want revenge, _America thought, feeling anger pump vehemently through his body. _Yes. Revenge. I want to find who did this, who planned it, who helped to plan it, who was involved in the slightest, and kill them. God I want to kill them. _

For a split second, France thought he saw a flame dancing in America's iris but as soon as he blinked the flame was gone. "Maybe now is a good time to talk, oui?" he suggested.

_How should I begin? Who should I suspect? Who is in cahoots with who? I'll find this out and more if I can get out of this damn hospital. Where's that nurse? _

France waved his hand in front of America's face. "Amérique, are you listening to me?"

_Why is this happening though? Is this punishment for something? Does this mean war? I got scared before, _actually _scared. What does that mean? That I'm weak? _

"Amérique! Snap of it!" France yelled in blatant annoyance.

_I'm weak! That's it, isn't it? I'm a fucking weakling. No that can't be…I'll fix this. England said I would. He wouldn't lie to me. No never, he would never. I'd kill him if he were a liar…if he was only talking out of pity. God dammit…I don't want pity anymore. I just want help. _

France felt his face grow hot with anger. He stood up from his chair and tightly gripped America's shoulders and began to rattle him. "America stop ignoring me! It is very rude! You're not cute _at all_ when you do this! Snap. Out. Of. It."

Suddenly it was as if America had awoken from a dream. Seeing France dangling over him gave him a start and he let out a yell. "France! What the hell are you doing here? And why are you in close proximity to my face!" America shouted in utter shock. America fought France's hands that were pinning him down and eventually France let him go and took two cautious steps backwards.

"You mean you don't remember? America, I just told you a few minutes ago and I'm sure you were paying attention then," said France as he studied America cautiously.

America's face was blank, showing no recollection of the previous events. "Remember what? What is there to remember?" America searched France's face for an explanation but all he could find was bafflement in his eyes.

"You really don't remember…" France concluded in disbelief.

America shook his head.

France tried for a smile to offer America the little shred of comfort that he could. "That's alright then. I'll just have to give you a refresher. _Pas de_ _problème_."

"Where's England?" America asked in a sweet voice full of sadness.

It only took a moment for France to explain to America what had transpired. America's reaction was quiet and reserved as if he was already waiting for England's return. "He's coming back right?" America asked.

France took a seat back in his chair. "Oui. Shall I call him right now?"

_Yes. God yes_, America thought and longed to say. But a guilt anchored him down and kept him from saying his desires. "You said he was really tired, right? Well…maybe we should let him sleep. I'll be okay without him for a little bit."

France grinned placidly. "I agree. Poor Angleterre worries himself sick about you. Ever since he found you all those years ago you're practically all he talks about." He let out an elongated sigh. "You are very lucky to have captured his attention almost all of the time…"

"He really talks about me a lot? What does he say?" America's face lit up with innocent curiosity.

"Oui! All of the time! I used to find it cute when you were a tiny _enfant_ but now that you're much older I have some _concurrence_."

"Some what? And what exactly does he say?"

"Oh! Well just last night when you were asleep I overhead Angleterre say-"

"FROG! Why in the bloody hell did you not call me? Do promises mean a thing to you?" England boomed from across the room with a scowl on his face. His skin glowed red with anger and his hands were balled into fists. He stomped furiously over to France who wasn't fazed in the slightest by England's display of rage.

France casted a glance towards America, flashing a subtle grin as he did so. "Do you understand now, Amérique? Love is strange, is it not?"

America felt a warm tingle rush to his cheeks as he stared dumb founded at the older nations before him. Before England could muster up another outburst of rage, France bid his temporary farewell. He brushed America's shoulder with his hand and nodded.

"I'll leave you two alone," he said with a mischievous chuckle. As he made his way out the door he brushed his shoulder up against England's with another airy laugh. "Don't miss me too much, Angleterre."

"Oh don't worry, I won't," said England.

Once France had left completely, England released a pent up sigh and took the seat adjacent to America's bed. He looked to his former colony with concern but found him to be flustered and red in the face. Confused, England took his hand and placed it on America's forehead to be sure he wasn't coming down with another fever. But when he brushed his skin he didn't find it to be significantly hot. "America, are you feeling well? I hope frog face didn't annoy you too much," said England as he moved his hand down to America's cheeks that seemed to be tinted scarlet. "You're a little warm here. Did you sleep well?"

America felt his stomach twist and his blood sizzle more prominently underneath his skin. The worst of it all occurred when the heart monitor by his side beeped rapidly causing a ripple of obnoxious clamor.

England glanced at the monitor and then quickly back to America with a puzzled look about him. He noticed America's eyes grow bluer or perhaps they were just becoming larger but nonetheless a meek smile touch his lips.

America chuckled nervously and eyed the clamp attached to his finger. "This thing is a little too sensitive I think," he said curtly, his self-conscious smile still present.

England quickly nodded in agreement, feeling his own face flush. He rose from his chair to yank the heart monitor's plug out of the wall. "There we go. It won't be bothering us anymore," he said. When England looked back up at America he noticed a strangely sad glimmer in his eye. England looked away from the hurt gaze, wondering if something he had said caused the reaction. Before he spoke, he cleared his throat to break the stifling tension. "As I was saying…did you sleep well?"

America frowned at England's monotonous question and decided childishly not to answer. He folded his arms over his chest and turned his face in the opposite direction.

England rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of stress pushing forcefully down on his shoulders. "America…can we not do this again today? Please…let's just be civil and talk like two normal people."

America responded with more silence, not daring to look into England's eyes. _We're not normal people_, he wanted to say.

England stood up from his chair in a fit of anger. "Do you not want me here? Is that it? Because I will leave! I have no obligation to be here, I'm only here because I'm worried about you. Just say the words and I'll be gone!" he yelled, a little too loud for his liking.

A strong twinge at America's heart caused him to shift in discomfort. The thought of England leaving him filled his mind with sadness. But even with that in mind he still refused to answer.

"America…I want to help you. I do. But how am I supposed to do that if you won't even talk to me! I can't read you're mind! But I know you're capable of talking…you said something before! So why can't you talk now?"

America stared idly into space hearing France's voice echo through the recesses of his mind. "_Love is strange, is it not?"_

"What did I do different before that made you talk? I'll do it again! Just tell me what it was…" England pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice.

America's cheeks darkened with color again in anticipation. _Just think, idiot_, he thought. He crossed his arms tighter and glued his stare to the window. Outside the day was just beginning but all was grey and dark. America felt like he could have been watching a black and white film.

England huffed furiously, having had enough of America's silent game. He moved closer to the bedside and firmly positioned his hands on America's cheeks to turn the younger nation toward him. "At least look at someone when they're trying to talk to you!" England yelled.

America's heart bounced at the aggressive contact and his eyes widened with surprise. But, his heart also fluttered with contentment as his lips perked into a grin. "Sorry England, guess I zoned out before," said America in his usual playful way.

"America…you will do anything for attention won't you?" England muttered.

America frowned. "I don't want just _anyone's_ attention…" he whined.

England blushed visibly but felt no shame in it. "If you wanted my attention all you needed to do was ask. Ignoring me isn't really an effective way to grab my-"

Suddenly, America yanked down on England's arm and drew him into a tight hug, one in which neither nation could escape from. England stumbled forward, nearly crashing into the thin hospital bed. America dug his face into his former guardian's shoulder mumbling something England could not hear. "Help me, England. Help me…"

The sudden desperation in America's voice took England off guard. He protectively wrapped his arms around the young nation and drew in his scent. "What is it? What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Please just get me out of here. I need to help my people…I need to help them. You understand England, you have to understand. Help me get out of here…" America dug his fingers into England's back as he shook with fear. He tried to hold himself back from crying but he could feel the tears battling their way out of the cage.

_If he starts to cry I'll lose it, _England thought morosely. He ran his fingers gently through America's soft hair and pulled him in closer, trying yet again to drink in his misery. "Alright," he whispered to his colony no more. "I'll see what I can do."

America picked his head up off of England's shoulder and stared at him with affection in his eyes that glowed like the sun's heavenly rays dripping upon the earth. "You'd really do that for me?" America asked.

"I'm sure I could arrange a way to have you released early. We could simply just call your boss and all we would have to do is-"

America disallowed him from finishing his thought as he came crashing into him once again. "You're the best England!"

England suddenly felt a burst of panic upon making his decision. _What if France is right? What if he is still healing? Not just physically but emotionally too. I hope he doesn't do anything rash, _he thought. "Are you sure you're feeling well though? Everything was fine last night and earlier this morning? Nothing I should know about, right?"

Memories of the severe coughing fit immediately came back to America's mind. The ordeal was on the frightening side for him but there were more important matters to attend to and he certainly could not tell England what had occurred now. His homeland's security was a much more dire issue. "I'm totally fine," he lied.

Not sensing the lie, England smiled. "Very well," he concluded.

* * *

><p>Beyond the doors of the hospital the air was chilling even though it was still early September. The sky was bleak as if the sun had never risen and the streets were polluted with blaring sirens and flashing lights. Walking through it all was like marching through a graveyard. Construction vehicles and fire trucks were the most abundant as they continued the clean up and search for identifiable bodies.<p>

Although the sifting through debris and the hum of automobiles caused significant noise, there was an eerie silence. It was a quiet that could only be brought on by the departed. A soft and silent cry whistled through the wind as if the perished spirits still lingered about the city, stuck between worlds.

A lone figure drank in the melancholy around him, sensing a mysterious plight. He became weak in the knees as a cool shiver shot down his spine. He thought he heard whimpers and soft yells but quickly concluded that these otherworldly voices were only a note in the sad song the wind seemed to sing. Then suddenly he felt an immense dread pull down at his heart so forcefully that he was positive there were people around him crying and begging for help. But as he looked around in alarm he saw that there were no faces to match the disembodied voices to. "I'm imagining things…" he assured himself.

As a split second decision, the lone figure decided to walk briskly towards the hospital no longer wanting to feel these eerie entities. However, as he walked he froze in mid step. For a devastatingly short second he felt a freezing hand grip his arm and grope at his shirt, tugging him in the opposite direction. The hand was like ice on his skin. A terror-stricken gasp fled from his throat. Nothing could have stopped him as he broke into a panicked sprint towards the hospital.

He could hardly breathe once he was inside. He found himself nearly jogging down the halls, trying his best to recall the directions a close friend had given him as to where he could find his brother. When he had at last found the correct room he stood outside the door fearfully wondering what sort of state his brother would be in. He held tight to his breath as he apprehensively slinked into the room.

"A-America?" he stammered.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Can you guess who it is? Probably! Well...to your delight or dismay this chapter is sort of kind of a filler chapter, but one that I felt was necessary to include! Obviously some events that happened here will carry over into later chapters but I really took my sweet old time with this one. Plus, I felt a a teensy break was needed from all the really heavy material. But I'll jump right back into the action with the next chapter (don't worry I'll get America out of the hospital too).

Here are all of the French translations. Forgive me if the French is misused (I'm more of a Spanish person, I don't take any French in school...it's been all Spanish for me since kindergarten) if anyone is to blame for poor translations it's google translate. Also...you may have noticed already but I'll italicize any word or phrase that is in French. However, I won't do it to words that I use more than once, I'll only italicize them the first time. And, I probably don't need to say this but I will anyway, that doesn't mean all words that are italicized are in French (duh) some might be inner dialogue or just an emphasis on a word. Sorry for insulting your intelligence that probably was completely unnecessary. Anyway...here are the translations...most of them you probably figured out on your own.

Angleterre- England

Amérique- America

Précieux- precious

Magnifique- magnificent

Irrationnel- irrational

Est bon?- Is that good?

Je vous promets- I promise

Bonne nuit- good night

Parfait- perfect

Jaloux- jealous

Mon Dieu- my God

Escusez-moi- excuse me

Merci- thank you

Oui- yes

Pas de problème- no problem

Enfant- child

Concurrence- competition

**Sorry if these are inaccurate! I'll see you all with the next chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Look who finally decided to update! Wow...well I need to start by saying that I'm sorry to anyone loyal enough to be waiting around for my next chapter. It's literally been forever since I've updated. As for excuses...I really have none besides life in general. This chapter isn't as dark as my other three so hopefully the switch in mood will be good for the story. It's not terribly long only because I wanted to leave off on a more pleasant note. I have some really good ideas for the next chapter so I wanted to save them in order to prolong the story. Anyway...thank you for all the reviews I've received thus far! I read all of them and I sincerely appreciate every single one. As always translations will be at the end. So...happy reading! Hope this was worth the wait!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

America immediately sensed a tremor of fear discharging from the one who stood before him so shaken and distressed. His small glasses seemed to fog over and his teeth seemed to chatter just slightly. But the complete loss of color in his face was perhaps the most…striking.

"Canada? What are you…what are you doing here? You didn't have to…I mean…I'm fine…everything…everything is fine," America muttered. The words tasted sour on his tongue from the lack of truth they held. His mouth practically burned from the loathsome lie.

Canada cautiously stepped forward, eying his brother with concern. As he made his way he hadn't realized how insubstantial his legs were until they were in motion. His knees felt weak but his heart felt weaker.

"America…you're…you're hurt…" Canada whispered.

America stared back at his brother and instinctively shook his head to assuage Canada's fears. "This is nothing."

Canada glared sharply at the modest country before him. "Nothing?" he repeated disgustedly, practically spitting on the words as he said them.

"Is something wrong?" America found himself stirring uncomfortably at the contemptuous glare his brother held.

"Is something wrong? Gee, I don't know America! _Is _something wrong?" Canada glanced out the window and shuddered. "My God, America! This is not even my land and I can feel the…the…" An uninviting chill raced up his skin and gathered near his chest where it seemed to form ice around his heart.

America was taken aback by the sudden outburst. He hardly ever witnessed his brother display anger or perhaps he had just never paid any mind to it. _I don't like Canada when he's like this, _America thought. "You can feel the what?"

"The death. God…it's…it's everywhere. I…I was scared just walking outside. America…you don't…you don't…you don't have to be so strong all of the time. You don't need to be strong for me…or for anyone right now." Canada found his voice beginning to waver and choke up. "America…I was so scared for you…I thought that…I thought that…."

"Canada?"

He covered his eyes with his hands and swallowed down his whimpers to the best of his ability. "I don't want to lose you."

America stared back at his brother, feeling his throat grow tight and his eyes grow wide. He tried to think of the last time he had felt threatened by tears around his brother.

Canada pulled his hand away from his face to reveal puffy red eyes and a deepening frown. "It scares me to see you like this." He moved closer to America's bedside so he was hovering over him. America's eyes connected with Canada's and both stares emitted a sadness that could never be recreated. Canada could hardly look at America's eyes as he was only seeing blue pools of sorrow. He could no longer hold himself back from crushing his brother into an embrace so tight that both countries felt they might burst from the pressure. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you…if…if…"

America couldn't remember the last time he clung to his brother so desperately. He buried his face into his shoulder and hoped tears wouldn't spill from his eyes. Canada's skin was surprisingly cold and he almost seemed to shake. "Don't be an idiot. You know it'd take a hell of a lot more to get rid of me." America gripped his brother tighter and squeezed his eyes shut as if to close himself off from the rest of the world. He hadn't even realized that England had slid out of the room unnoticed to leave the two brothers alone. "And besides…I couldn't leave you alone in this big scary world, now could I?" America could feel Canada breaking a smile on his shoulder.

"Definitely not," Canada replied in a whisper.

America slowly removed his head from his brother's trembling shoulder to study the lingering fear in his glistening eyes. America had observed accurately before, Canada's skin was pale and his lips almost seemed blue. America sighed and casually averted his stare. "What did you see?"

"It wasn't what I saw…it was what I _felt_."

America eyed Canada quizzically, feeling bewildered by his response. "What did you feel?"

Canada quickly removed himself from America's side and paced to the other end of the room where he stood rubbing his arms as if he were trying to warm himself up. He stared fitfully out the window with wide sorrowful eyes. "I can't tell you that. You'll think I'm crazy."

"You? Crazy? I_'d_ have to be crazy to think that you're crazy! Don't keep me in suspense man, I'll find out eventually so why don't you just tell me now?"

Canada frowned. "Well surely you've been feeling weird lately. Right?"

America eyed his brother with suspicion, confusion swarming his mind. "Weird? Well…I mean…physically I've been in a little pain I guess."

Canada sadly flicked his eyes to America.

America awkwardly cleared his throat in response. "I mean…it's nothing though. This is nothing."

Canada didn't bother to stop his brother's modesty and arrogance. It was just something he had grown used to over time. "Have you been outside since?" Canada asked.

"No…no I haven't. But I would like to. I want to see…I want to see what's left."

Canada nodded slowly, beginning to understand that America had not felt what he felt only minutes before. For a moment, Canada contemplated whether or not it was something America needed to see right away. _He's recovering…I should let him rest. But still…his people are trapped between worlds. He needs to do something for them…he can't just ignore this obvious cry for help. _

"I think we should go outside then." Canada looked to America with sincerity in his eyes. America's eyes lit up temporarily.

"That's a great idea and all but…" America motioned around him to the hospital equipment. "They won't let me leave."

Canada grinned discreetly at his brother as he drew his cell phone from within his pocket. He flipped it open and searched through the contacts until he at last found the desired name. "Don't forget who you are, America."

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for America to take his leave of the hospital after the quick phone call to his boss. Of course America had contemplated doing so for a while but the uncanny pain deep within his lungs kept him from following through. However, the urgency in Canada's voice made him decide otherwise. What was out there that could make a grown country shiver?<p>

When England returned to America's hospital room he was accompanied by France. England appeared notably irritated as he crossed the room with an unfriendly scowl and his arms crossed over his chest. France, on the contrary, appeared to be as flamboyant as ever, sauntering across the room towards Canada.

"_Bonjour mon petit Canada! Comment ca va?" _France pulled Canada unexpectedly by the hand and closer to himself. The younger country stumbled forward, nearly slamming his face into France's chest.

"_Mon_ _Dieu, France! S'il vous __plaît__ soyez doux." _The French rolled beautifully off his tongue.

France chuckled and smiled gratefully at the rosy blush forming on Canada's cheeks. "_Ah, pardon…mon coeur." _France lifted a hand and lightly used it to tap Canada on his reddening cheek. "_Tu es trop mignon_…" He whispered amorously.

Canada seemed to shrink where he stood from embarrassment. He instinctively yanked his hand away from France so as not to give England or America any ideas. He then cleared his throat nervously as if doing so would break the sudden wall of silence.

America was the first to speak up. "Are you guys done? 'Cause I seriously hate it when you do that! You could be insulting me and I'd have no idea. It's just rude really…"

England sighed, running his hand down his face. "Honestly America, did it sound like they were insulting you?"

"Well I wouldn't know now would I? C'mon England…use your head!"

"It's called sensing the mood, you git! Something you clearly have never understood."

America shot up and clenched his fists furiously. His face turned a deep red and he felt as if his veins were set aflame. "Oh I can't sense the mood? Look who's talking! You couldn't catch a hint if it slapped you in the face!" America's voice grew louder and louder. "It's like you're blind half the time! You're such a hopeless id-"

"Stop it you two! Is this really the time or the place to be fighting amongst ourselves? Go relieve your sexual tensions elsewhere!" France shouted before America had the opportunity to cause further calamity.

It took all of England's restraint not to lash out at America. _It's true though…it's like all we do is fight_, he pondered. England wanted so badly to throw back a witty backstabbing comment but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. _His entire world is going to change…so his temper must be wearing thin._

America glared at England and France irritably. "You look like you have something to say, England," he muttered. "Are you finally gonna admit that you're totally clueless? Or do you just want to tell me I'm an idiot and call it a day?"

England silently simmered where he stood, averting his eyes from America's accusing stare. He bit his lip to keep himself from lashing out in rage.

"Just say it," America ordered. "Go on…tell me I'm stupid. Tell me I'm a moron. Just do it! I know you want to!"

England hid his reddening face so America couldn't see. "Why do you want to fight with me so badly?" he asked.

America glanced away with a red blush pigmenting his cheeks. "I don't want to fight. I just want you to admit when you're wrong!"

"When I'm wrong? What have I done that is wrong? I've been by your side this entire time. What is it that you want me to admit to? That I'm 'clueless'?"

The innocent blush on America's cheeks reddened deeper but this time with rage. "You just don't get it, do you?"

Hurt was evident in England's stare as he peered at the frustrated nation. He wanted to snap at America, he wanted to more than anything. _How dare he treat me this way after I held his hand through everything_, England thought. Yes, how dare he. But despite it all, England still held his tongue. He calmly sauntered over to where America stood, boiling in wrath. _Yes, he's much more irritable than usual. _

Sensing the discomfort, Canada gripped France's hand that dangled by his side. Canada shot him a look and motioned towards the door. France didn't bother to argue and followed his _amour_ outside of the hospital room.

Not noticing their absence, England continued to approach America with placidity in his eyes. "America…what is it that you want to tell me?"

America dropped his eyes to the floor feeling his heart sink. "Why can't you see, England?" America muttered with disappointment edging into his voice.

"See what?"

In one swift, rapid motion America grabbed England's hand and yanked him close. Then, he placed the older nation's hand so that it rested on his chest. America kept his eyes averted, his cheeks flaming with a devastating shade of red. England's eyes grew wide from shock and his heart seemed to pump like it was running out of oxygen. The rosiness on his cheeks tickled.

"Do you feel it now?" America spoke, just above a whisper.

England felt the pressure of an excited heart thumping rapidly against the palm of his hand, America's heart. _Thump, thump, thump, thump. _It was beautiful.

"England…you make my head spin and….and…you make my heart get all jumpy like this. I've loved you forever but I…I think I love you in _that_ way."

England didn't speak. He froze like a concrete statue. His stare completely adrift.

"And it's so fucked up…I don't understand it all. I like a _guy_…and as if that wasn't bad enough, it's you. And if you…if you hadn't been there with me during…during the attack…I would have never even realized it. The thought that I could lose you…or I that I could die without having loved you…well it makes me sick. I promised I would say I love you every day since the eleventh but I…I've already broken that promise. I'm sorry, England. I messed up already." America took a deep exhale once he finished. _There it's out_, he thought. Magically, the weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. But still, England remained silent and static.

"Are you angry with me? Is that why you aren't talking? I know I promised to say it so I'll say it twice in a row to make up for forgetting, kay?" America grabbed England's blushing face and cupped it in his hands. America's azure gaze blazed through England's emerald eyes. "I love you," he said sternly. America affectionately leaned his forehead into England's. "I love you," he repeated.

America and England froze in that position for what seemed to be several moments. America inhaled England's scent. He hoped his love could seep through his fingertips and into England's blood stream. Slowly, America pulled his face away. England was staring back at him in a daze. America chuckled loudly, like he often used to. "You can say something, y'know."

England smiled cutely, his face glowing. "Finally," he uttered.

America raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Finally? What's that supposed to mean? C'mon England I was expecting something a little more…I don't know…sophisticated? Since it is you and all…"

"I've been waiting a very long time for you to say something remotely close to what you just said…but I never would have thought that it would a take a tragedy to pull it out of you," England replied truthfully.

America sighed with relief. "Does that mean the feeling's mutual?" he asked bluntly.

England chuckled. "Stupid American…"

"Hey! I just spilled my heart out for you and all you have to say is-"

England pressed his index finger to America's lips. "It was a joke," he cooed softly.

"Your jokes suck," America replied.

England laughed carelessly and caressed America's soft cheek. "I love you, America." Delicately and with untainted affection, he placed a warm kiss on his cheek. "And under happier circumstances…I'll kiss you here," England uttered as he ran his fingers over the pleasantly smooth contours of America's lips.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **You guessed it (and probably knew all along) that this story has taken a turn for the USUK. This was always my intention but it just took me a while to really incorporate it seeing as this takes place in such a dark time. I do promise another chapter soon! The next chapter will include my interpretation of the the rest of the world's reaction to 9/11. Yes that means more of your favorite characters will be making appearances! So hopefully that convinces you to stick around for the next update which will not take nearly as long as this one seeing as it's summer and I really have no excuse. Anyway...thanks so much for reading! Reviews are appreciated :)

**Translations:**

_Bonjour mon petit Canada! Comment ca va?_**- **Hello my little Canada! How are you? (informal)

_Mon_ _Dieu, France! S'il vous __plaît__ soyez doux_**-**My God, France! Please be gentle.

_Ah, pardon…mon coeur_**- **Ah, pardon me...my heart.

_Tu es trop mignon_**- **You are too cute.

**Sorry if these aren't exact! **


End file.
